


Hover Hands

by bottle_glass



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: But so is Dimitri, Cuddling & Snuggling, Felix Hugo Fraldarius is Bad at Feelings, Felix is grumpy cat who just likes the pets, Fluff, Gen, M/M, Sylvain gets everyone drunk during a bonding sesh, TLDR Felix has bad eyesight when he's drunk, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, dimilix, no beta we die like Glenn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-02
Updated: 2020-12-02
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:13:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27817351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bottle_glass/pseuds/bottle_glass
Summary: Prompt: “Drunk Felix loudly announces to everyone that he’s going to bed, and proceeds to shove his face into Dimitri’s chest.” - @bumblevetr (via Twitter)TL;DR - During a Blue Lions bonding session, everyone quickly realizes a drunk Felix is a very confused Felix. Hints of Dimilix if you squint.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Felix Hugo Fraldarius
Comments: 12
Kudos: 73





	Hover Hands

**Author's Note:**

> Pre-timeskip!Blue Lions because why not. She's not here, but I imagine Byleth wondering why she hasn't seen her Lions all night, and she's the one who discovers them the next morning, all passed out (extremely undignified) in Dimitri's room.
> 
> Thank you to @bumblevetr on Twitter for inspiring me to write this, and letting me add my headcanon to yours. It's longer than 200 words (lol sorry) but hope it's the fluffy Dimilix fic we're both looking for.

Sylvain doesn’t remember the exact point when Felix’s evening took an abrupt turn, but it starts a little like this:  
  
“I said no more, Sylvain,” Felix huffs, shoving away the offered flask. “I’ve had too much.”  
  
“Clearly, you haven’t had enough,” mutters Sylvain, knocking back the flask himself. He’s a little tipsy, but out of everyone in the room, Felix is by far the most sober. The only signs that he’s drunk anything at all are the bright glittering of his eyes and a spot of color high on his cheekbones.  
  
The other Blue Lions are arranged in states of rare relaxation in Dimitri’s room, having accepted their prince’s invitation to a casual evening of drinks, supplied by Sylvain from undoubtedly questionable sources.  
  
On the floor, Mercedes and Annette take turns passing a cup between them, taking tiny bird-like sips, while Ingrid dozes off next to Ashe, who is unsurprisingly a placid drunk. Dedue is on the verge of sleeping himself, and only the wall keeps him upright as he gazes deep into a half-full glass. Felix has occupied the desk chair, lounging like a cat, while Dimitri sits quietly on the bed.  
  
The prince’s cup is mostly untouched, but he’s clearly a little under the influence as he tries to make somewhat coherent conversation with Sylvain. “But that’s… We’ve discussed this before, but I still don’t… Why do the girls, when you bring them…”  
  
Sylvain patiently waits for him to finish.  
  
“Why do they have to be so _loud?”_  
  
Sylvain can practically hear Felix’s eyes roll.  
  
“Leave it to the boar to ask stupid questions. I’m going to bed.” Felix gets up, and Annette draws in her legs to make way for him as he exits, but instead of veering toward the door, he makes a beeline elsewhere.  
  
Dimitri does nothing, can do nothing, as Felix all but tackles him to the bed.  
  
When he plants his face in Dimitri’s chest and promptly starts to snore, there’s a beat of stunned silence where nobody moves. Nobody dares to breathe. Sylvain is absolutely dumbfounded.  
  
But that’s when he notices the three empty glasses, drained bone dry, at the foot of Felix’s chair. The realization is slow, but inevitable: “Not-drunk-enough” Felix had been, without a doubt, the drunkest of them all.  
  
Pinned to his own bed by Felix’s weight, Dimitri struggles helplessly, hands hovering over Felix’s dozing body. He looks terrified to even whisper, but he does it anyway, blue eyes entreating Sylvain to help. “Felix is… Should I…?”  
  
“Stay where you are,” Sylvain is quick to say. “Better he sleeps here than in the hall, right?”  
  
“But—”  
  
“Stay,” Sylvain insists, suppressing a childish grin at how irked Felix will be tomorrow. On the floor, Ashe blinks at him owlishly but says nothing, and Mercedes is too engrossed in braiding a sleepy Annette’s hair to comment. Dedue, thankfully, has fallen asleep and isn’t awake to bear witness to Felix’s unseemly behavior around the prince.  
  
He’s also not available to aid the hapless Dimitri.  
  
As the only one with his wits still about him, Sylvain toasts Dimitri with his glass before downing it in one swallow. The sooner he gets black-out drunk, the sooner he can claim deniability when Felix comes seeking death and destruction tomorrow. “Might as well get comfortable, Your Highness. It doesn’t look like Felix is going anywhere.”  
  
It’s true. Felix has completely draped himself over the prince, legs sprawled gracelessly over the bed and limbs loose around Dimitri’s torso, in a position that might be considered extremely uncomfortable if not for the peaceful expression on his face. For his part, Dimitri has valiantly tried to keep still, avoiding movements that might wake the snoozing swordsman on his chest.  
  
Sylvain is lowering himself into Felix’s vacant chair, knees weak with the effects of that last shot, just when Felix’s head jerks abruptly. Startled, Dimitri freezes, hands hovering over Felix’s back, fluttering like pinned butterflies.  
  
Felix settles again, but the peaceful expression is gone, and his muscles are tense.  
  
Sylvain observes as Dimitri’s hand lowers, moving hesitantly over Felix’s dark head of hair. It stills there, wavering.  
  
"Careful," says Sylvain. "He bites."  
  
Dimitri doesn't acknowledge this, but his hand doesn't move. Finally, he seems to come to a silent decision. The space between his hand and the inky strands shrinks, smaller and smaller, until there’s no space at all.  
  
Dimitri’s touch is light, careful, and Sylvain can see the sheer willpower it takes to keep his Blaiddyd strength restrained. He treats Felix like glass. Glass that could cut him, if he wakes.  
  
Dimitri strokes Felix’s hair. Tentatively at first, then with growing confidence as the swordsman remains asleep on his chest.  
  
If Sylvain weren’t so drunk, he would say it’s almost picturesque.  
  
The blond prince runs a hand over Felix’s hair like he would a small child, one lip curving up slightly while Felix murmurs, a wordless purr. He settles deeper against him. Dimitri’s blue eyes warm with affection, and something like wonder, as the boar prince cradles his Shield with utmost care.  
  
The sight is the only thing Sylvain remembers of the evening. (And one he holds over Felix’s head for years.)

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I'd love a kudos, or you can hit Subscribe for future FE3H fics.


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